Insomniac
by Napalm Kracken
Summary: It was a little after sunset when the wanderlust began to take hold... Daria's savage journey into the heart of Lawndale's night life.


INSOMNIAC  
  
With Daria Morgendorffer  
  
NAPALM KRIGBAUM  
  
"Come with me and you will see, a late night freak show, jubilee!  
  
Kick the sand man in his sack, stay up late, insomniac!"  
  
-Dave Attell, Comedy Genius & Professional Drunk  
  
7:45- 1111 GLEN OAK LANE   
  
I had finished The Rum Diary by about 7:45 PM, more appropriately I had skimmed through the final pages as the last of the sunlight disappeared from my room making reading impossible and giving it that dark asylum aura that first made me want to live here…and makes everyone else back off in fear. I tossed the finished novel at the foot of my bed with the others and spent the next few moments trying to decide if I would just lie here motionless, staring at the ceiling or get off my ass for the first time since lunch and do something. After option A won by default I decided to go with option B, and got off my ass.  
  
My parents had left about two days ago, it was their anniversary and they wanted to do something together. Apparently it was argue over what to do for the anniversary, but in the end they decided to head on down to the Caribbean. It's hotter and stickier, therefore a much more suitable place to be agitated with each other while feigning attempts at intimacy. This left me alone at home with Quinn. Since she's the sociable one and I'm the possibly sociopathic one her friends rescued her and this left me with my own personal fiefdom and way too much free time on my hands on this sweltering day. Though I had the house all to myself I didn't feel like moving around much so I just brought perishable goods up to my room, where I had sat for the past 48 hours, make that 48 hours and five minutes I thought as I flipped on the neglected TV. Now with my old record broken I needed something else to do and somehow I felt this would involve leaving the room, possibly even the house. Jane was off with Trent and the Spiral, they were spending the week touring Texas, Trent said something about "If Ozzy can do it, then the Spiral can do it" and off they went. So far they had yet to call for bail money and I took this as a good sign. Most likely though they hadn't called because no one had coughed up a quarter for the phone call. As I threw on my jacket I decided the latter must be accurate and just thinking about their wander lust made me think of my own. If I didn't get out of here soon I would need, not just prefer padded walls in my room.  
  
With each passing step down the stairs I grew more restless. This dark hole had kind of a surreal quality when it was empty and unlit, under other circumstances I might of sat down and jotted some thoughts down on it but not today. It was time to go out, blow something up, wipe out a few dozen bastards and waste about twenty bucks worth of quarters in the process while simultaneously forcing processed cheese and 'real fresh pepperonis' slapped on some cardboard down my throat. Yes, it was time for I, Daria Morgendorffer, to go do something constructive with my time.  
  
8:00   
  
I went for the keys to the Great Red Whale Shark but they where absent from their accustomed place in the kitchen, as where the keys to the Lexus. Quinn had taken the Shark's keys and the Lexus was in the shop till Tuesday. Did I say Great Red Whale Shark? Clearly I was a victim of the double dose of Thompson I had just given myself, after the Alger story I finished this morning it felt appropriate to read Fear and Loathing (In Las Vegas, not that mediocre Campaign Trail in '72), then after that one, as if in some kind of 6 degrees of literature, to do The Rum Diary. My thoughts then shifted toward alternative transportation options- taxis? Too expensive, maybe a return trip though. The Trentmobile? Jane had left me the keys, but I value my life too much. I could try to force something from Quinn's entourage but that would require more time and effort than I was willing to put forth. My eyes darted towards the clock, 8:01, I could make the 8:15 bus, the stop was at the end of the block, so the bus it was.   
  
About halfway down the side walk I realized that I hadn't left a light on, which mom had asked me to do whenever I went out at night but I had forgot to turn off my TV. That technicality was good enough for my conscious so I continued on toward my destination.  
  
The combination of silent night, slight breeze and full moon made the walk somewhat refreshing, it almost made up for the showers I'd neglected for the past couple of days. It created a great atmosphere for this possible mortician to be, though my actual future career path was still undecided. Newspaper journalism played in my mind for awhile (I was once a reporter for Highland High), but after reading the newspapers daily since I was three I had come to despise the lot. I had read something earlier that summed up the papers up quite well- Why bother with newspapers, if this is all they offer? Agnew was right. The press is a gang of cruel faggots. Journalism is not a profession or a trade, it is a cheap catch all for fuck ups and misfits- a false doorway to the backside of life, a filthy piss ridden little hole nailed off by the building inspector, but just deep enough for a wino to curl up from the sidewalk and masturbate like a chimp in a zoo cage.  
  
The bus stop is an enchanting place this time of night, the smell wafting up from the nearby drainage ditch, magnified by this damnable heat was in full bloom and there was a plethora of vehicle-less, monetarily challenged, or at least cheap teens such as myself milling about waiting for out ticket out of the burbs and into the Heart of Darkness. I've heard it's a pretty decent night club from Trent, he says they refuse to let him play there so I'm inclined to believe him about it.  
  
The kids all stood about in a half dazed manner, some engaged in conversation, others- fringe elements of the fringe elements- just stared at the bright street lights or rode their skateboards circling each other like so many dogs chasing their tails. The moment I got here I knew I needed a plan of action to handle this situation, what to do if someone makes eye contact, or- as unspeakable as it may be- try to strike up a conversation with me. So I stood by the sign, just barely out of the street light's glare and allowed all feasible come backs to course through my mind. The kid with the three foot chin hair began to approach me but then one of his skate board riding friends pulled him off his course. The wind whipped up suddenly, I innocuously grabbed the hem of my skirt and kept it down, but the distraction was all it took for someone to over run my perimeters and the sound of his voice began assailing me.  
  
"Hey, uh, chick." Thankfully he didn't comment on my 'thingies'.  
  
"Ak akostinincho, salaha hosh Anampoli." I mumbled back. It's good to learn a phrase or two in other languages, it opens up many multicultural conversation opportunities.   
  
That was pretty much it until the bus came. Now it was time to try my luck with this brood in an enclosed area.  
  
8:15- CITY BUS ROUTE 14  
  
  
  
I sat on the bus next to a guy bobbing his head to the rhythm of the fast paced static oozing from his headphones. He most likely would not attempt conversation nor notice I was here, which is why this was better than taking an empty bench. At this moment I myself wished I brought a book to pass the time but I had done so much reading today I was burnt out on it for the moment. I glanced at the fairly somber gathering around in the vehicle. What is it about city buses that makes everyone so quite? And why can't whatever it is be put or sprayed everywhere? Now that would be a worthy cause for me to champion I thought. It might even top my protest of that book burning on TV. No, I shouldn't think such lofty thoughts, at least not here where others can see the expression on my face or hear the 2 octave jump in my voice if I have to speak.  
  
For the record I, nor just about anyone else is truly 'monotonic', most people just don't care to pay attention long enough to observe the subtler nuances to our voices. If it isn't an over the top change in tone no one notices. Simply put- most people measure vocal range in 'feet', monotones do it those inches between feet. As I said, it's subtle and I like it that way.  
  
8:31- DOWNTOWN   
  
I left the bus on a faintly lit corner in what passes for downtown Lawndale. You know when you've hit downtown because an extra layer of topographical grime appears everywhere and at night alcohol intoxicates the air, not to mention the smell of burning rope. At least I'd call it burning rope if I was an optimist. I walked down the block, fully alert and aware for whatever may come my way. It may still be early in the night but there's no such thing as being too early to be wasted. The living proof was around me and I really wasn't in the mood to be someone's puke towel or fall softener, to beat level 20 of Gore-gasm 3 would require me to be undistracted by foul smells and stains.   
  
  
  
8:40- MR. FUN'S WORLD OF GAMES  
  
Finally, my lighthouse in the sea of madness. Mr. Fun's is an unassuming haven nestled in the beating, or more precisely in today's case- pulsating heart of Lawndale. The karaoke bar next door pulsates with saccharine synth-groove pulsation on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, and with wild mindless, rhythmic beating on the rest. Fortunately though, the designers of Mr. Fun's decided sound proofing would a worthwhile investment and it obviously was. It seemed people would rush into the place just to escape the auditory assault, probably a scam worked out by the owners of both establishments. Some call thinking like this delusional, paranoid, pessimistic, just plain cynical. Of course if one evil bastard runs them both, who's deluded now ?  
  
I escaped to the gaudily lit interior and I looked for open gaming options. Since so many had also decided to use this place as an escape it seemed every game had a crowd around it. Most days I feel patient enough to wait, but today is not one of those days. I tried to come into the interior proper but a hand grabbed me, I instinctively went to defend myself, but by the poor sap's ludicrously bright shirt I cloud tell he was just an employee trying to direct the masses and myself.  
  
"Hey little girl, where do you think you're going?" This punk obviously didn't know who he was talking to. Damn new guys. The old hands all know me by sight, I stick out like a zebra in a herd of mustangs.   
  
"Well I was going to play tiddly winks with the big kids for a pack of smokes but I guess not now."  
  
"Wise ass bitch."  
  
"Don't make my mommy wash your mouth out with soap." Go ahead, let's play games. I came here to play games.  
  
"Tonight's crazy hat night, no crazy hat, no entrance, no lollipop."  
  
What in the hell was this bastard talking about, I contemplated giving him a steel toed boot to the head for a hat but decided against this since the games they play in the slam aren't very fun. Upon a second glance I could see he was right- almost everyone had a hat on, some had hats nearby though, ready for the headwear Gestapo to strike. The night was rapidly cooling down, I could use a hat anyway.  
  
"I guess I'll go play in the street now."  
  
I turned and figured I'd walk down the block to the Army-Navy store at the end of the street, it should be open till nine.  
  
8:49 LAWNDALE ARMY-NAVY  
  
In the Army-Navy English is the second language, Tagalog is the native tongue here since the owner and all employees speak it. Our Army-Navy was just like the one in Highland, which in turn is probably just like the one in New York, which is probably identical to the one in Hollywood. The aroma of surplus penetrated my body after a matter of seconds, officiating this place as a true Army-Navy, accept no imitations. The clerk sat behind the counter of discount switch blades and Vietnam surplus knives, watching something scrambled, possibly soccer as he grumbled and fiddled with the cable box every so often. He was oblivious to my presence but the fierce woman standing besides a long rack of various camouflage accessories had a gleam in her eye, as if she was just praying to God that I'd attempt to shoplift something and brighten up her day.  
  
"We close in ten minutes." She said tersely. This didn't leave me much time but by when my ten minutes was up I was about 20 bucks shorter, but about an inch taller. My 'crazy hat' was a woodland boonie hat, or as it says on the tag- HAT, SUN, HOT WEATHER. I shoved a bird feather I had found on the sidewalk in the hat band and wrote "I love napalm" in black ink on the front and "93 confirmed, 300 unconfirmed" on the back. Time to play some games.   
  
I drifted back onto the street, the temperature had dropped now for sure and I pulled on the little black watch cap I had also bought inside for warmth, those this attempt at heat preservation was contradicted by my bare legs. An explanation of my crazy hat- the lone feather in the hatband and the style of hat itself are a reference to a man I once read about in an article. Carlos Hathcock is considered to be the greatest sniper who ever lived, 93 confirmed, 300 unconfirmed enemy kills in Vietnam, saved seven men from a burning vehicle at the cost of his own skin, refused any awards for it at the time. A man like this isn't easily forgotten and as I looked at my crazy hat options his name came to mind. Carlos Hathcock III, Long Trang Du Kich- White Feather, the Sniper. There's a library named after him in Washington, DC on I street. I think I saw a shooting star over head.  
  
"The more you know."  
  
9:05 MR. FUN'S WORLD OF GAMES  
  
Now the man at the maw of Mr. Fun suddenly wasn't in the mood to screw with me, so I was let in without any qualms, though I think he talked to the security guard as soon as I passed. Let him, it was time for me to go off and blow something up.   
  
Streets of Ass Kicking 3 is always a good warm up, the familiar repetitive motions required to kick the asses of pretty much any and all comers is a good warm up for my future as a carpal tunnel victim. After a few dozen rounds of it I grew tired and let a 6 year old finish off the game for me, it's good to let the young ones learn a few good moves early. I progressed steadily onward to the classic update Bum Fight 2: 40 oz Edition, securing my future. Now my blood was pumping but my fingers where showing signs of cramping, I was ready to stop when out of my blind side Charles 'Upchuck' Ruttheimer III flanked me and popped in his quarters. I could have left then and there, should have, but the thought of kicking Upchuck's ass was too enticing.  
  
"Allow me to encroach." His purr was what made the decision final.   
  
"No." I would have made a human coach roach crack, but my mind had switched from Defense/Attack/Normal Operations Mode to Gaming Mode and I lacked the time to toggle the switch.  
  
"Then I guess I'll just have to allow myself."  
  
"You're more than welcomed to spend time in a piss stained gutter Upchuck." Actually this was the over pass level but the switch still hadn't toggled.  
  
It took a total of 15 seconds of ass kicking for me- personified as the wino with a brandy glass to take down his AIDS infected child molesting ass. This momentary lack of pain was pleasure like, it may not have been real life, but it would do. After losing a round he stepped back and I could smell his rancorous breath, on his demented mind this is probably being catalogued as-  
  
9:59 Got ass kicked by luscious lady.  
  
10:00 Sweetly breathed on the nape of her neck.  
  
  
  
10:01 Doubled over on ground crying and howling pain with the fear that my gonads may never regain feeling or function. The human race is being deprived!  
  
If only I could make the last entry come true and erase the first two. Damn! With my concentration off I lost the next round, damn hippie and his damn bongos. But it wasn't really the game as much as it was the leach on my back. Finally the toggle had switched over and it was time for Morgendorffer's revenge.  
  
"Upchuck, while you're back there can you be a dear and check out my epidermis ididiemus?"  
  
"Why of course but- your what?"  
  
"The contagious sores on the back of my neck. They're pretty easy to spot." I could do this in my sleep, and I sleep a lot. He may of left but my luck only went downhill, I was out of Gaming Mode and my patience with losing was burning out quickly, but I had plenty of quarters on hand, a dangerous situation. I came here to play and relax but now I was just getting frustrated, cramped and slightly hungry. I had remembered to eat lunch didn't I? No wait, that was yesterday. Damn that Thompson and his page turners.   
  
As I cursed him I lost yet another round of Lethal Klown Killers from Pluto and reached into my pocket for more quarters but the well of wealth had finally run dry. I resigned my sawed off and flexed my fingers to let them breathe before pulling on my watch cap and heading on back out to the cold dark night.  
  
11:12- DOWNTOWN (EN ROUTE TO PIZZA KING)  
  
In the short span of time between giving my crazy hat to an appreciative tot and getting the door open the sharp breeze struck me and it felt like the goose pimples swelled my legs to twice there usual size. The transit from the warm, sweaty interior of Mr. Fun's to the harsh reality of the night was enough to almost give me a heart attack, which is how I decided it was time for an extra cheese and pepperoni pizza. It was quite serene on the street at this time of night, the wind had whipped up and while the steam rising from the sewers was inviting for warmth the stench was still not so I steered clear of the curb and stuck close to buildings. I stole a glance at the old alt.Lawndale.com café, it's windows still boarded up from the last time someone had done society a favor and shut the place down. It was a good night for reflections as I remembered the essay I'd written for the occasion, it was almost a pity there wasn't a Russian embassy in Lawndale. I had already moved a city block from Mr. Fun's, this corner of the city was shadowed by the not too distant lights of the large hangar like building and what I'd always figured was an old church. I could see the Village Greens and it' bearded patron that separates the city portion from the suburbs of Lawndale. The traffic was very light, hardly a moving vehicle in sight as I crossed the street. I caught sight of the Spiffy Jiffy Café, we caused quite a row there once…  
  
"Mo-om!" It seemed Quinn's annoyance rose with each hair net she saw, this was definitely proportional to my enjoyment of the place. Granted the food was almost gruel but when it came to distressing the great Queen Quinn almighty I could endure a little pain. Hell, eating cafeteria food daily prepared me for this.  
  
"This place is so gross, what if my friends see me here?!"  
"Then you can ask them to sit with us, you and your family, and your sister…" I let the thought trail off, ever so slowly rolling the final words off my tongue. Savor the moment, see what happens if she snaps under pressure.  
  
"Great idea Daria! Way to be a team player!" My personal cheerleading squad chimed in. Parents where made for situations like these.  
  
"My social life would be destroyed, why couldn't I just go over to Sandy's?" She pounded her fists on the table to emphasize her point and I had to move fast to beat Mom and Dad to the punch.  
  
"Maybe we should have invited her. Real quality time together. For all of us." God, I should join the drama club after this. Wait, human interaction, never mind. I sipped my drink, I need to keep up my voice after all.  
  
"Now girls, you know this is family night and it's just us, the family, Daria wanted to go here tonight, you picked last time Quinn, remember?" Mom tried to act as the voice of reason, being a lawyer she gets to practice that voice all day long.  
  
"But Daria shouldn't count because she doesn't really want to go anywhere or do anything anyway!" Now she was finger pointing. Play it cool and light her fires.   
  
"But now that I'm out I'm so glad I came, I can't wait for next week." A grin crept up on me as we maintained eye contact, she was boiling over, one last push and the night would be magical.  
  
"Ohh!!!"  
  
"Quinn honey, calm down, you're making a scene." Mother tried to calm the situation but with the right maneuvering…  
  
"Yeah, someone might see you."  
  
She whined and rushed off to the bathroom, but not before running into a waiter and getting a full three course meal on herself. We should bond like this more often.  
  
  
  
Now the cafe looked like a painting at the moment, and the night was starting to bore the hell out of me so I quickened my pace, I was feeling mentally numb, and the thought of hitting my head on something seemed inviting for a moment but then I decided it doesn't really matter what the voices said, that would hurt.  
  
11:24 PIZZA KING  
  
The lights were on and burning brightly, this was a good sign. Bugs and other unintelligent life are innately attracted to such lights and I was in the mood to entertain myself. I have a strange relationship with my so called 'peer group'. While they often make me want to gouge out my eyes they are also a very good and cheap source of entertainment. Observing them my wit goes into over drive and it feels almost rewarding. Likewise it's degrading to think that they are the same species as me and they represent the majority.   
  
It was surprisingly empty this night with only a few patrons milling about. I found my accustomed booth, but without Jane it just felt kind of wrong so I moved to the next booth over. Time to conquer new territory anyway.  
  
Actually I had to move two booths over since the next one was occupied by the Lawndale Lion's triple threat of Joey, Jeffy and Jamie. I tried ignoring them and kept myself amused by working on a mind palace, still haven't worked out the kinks yet, all in due time- but I couldn't help but overhear them and got a first hand look at what they're like when their Madonna isn't around.  
  
"Okay, if Quinn was a dog what kind would she be?" Joey said on the sly. I had to restrain myself from giving them the correct answer.  
  
"Quinn would be an expensive one, with a shiny coat!" Jeffy exclaimed.  
  
"No she would be…" Come on now Jamie, tell us. "Uh…a cute one." As cute as the crap she leaves on the floor. But Joey had outwitted them with this question, while I had thought their IQ's where all zero, when graded on a curve two of them had to be given less than zero.  
  
"You're both wrong!" Joey jumped up and buzzed. "Trick question- she can't be a dog, unless you think she's a bitch!" I guess he doesn't know as much about Quinn as he thinks he does."Drink up now boys." He proudly exclaimed. I had to see this, so I nonchalantly turned my head just enough to see what the hell they where drinking. If only I didn't have to turn so much, damn blind spot. Luckily though I'm stealth incarnate around here. I should really learn to mind my own business- I saw him take what appeared to be a jockstrap and wring it out into the victim's cups. Suddenly I didn't feel nearly as hungry and I fought the urge to spill what little was still fueling my system.  
  
After a minute or so a waiter came and took my order for a personal cheese/pepperoni pizza and King sized drink. I moved over to a small table alone by the window then took the other chair at it and moved it to the next table over. Now I was alone and just watching the occasional car whiz by under the dim glow of the street lights. I had a feeling I'd be awake for quite awhile longer now so I got lost in thought about where to strike next, then I got side tracked when I thought about writing a story involving a modern day Ben Hur/Luca Brasi type character in a surreal Kafka-esque setting. Of course by time I had finished musing I had a cold pizza sitting in front of me with a lukewarm soda and an impatient waiter telling me it was closing time. At the same time I realized that I had dozed off and that my pad was out of paper. At this ungodly hour there was only one place to go.  
  
12:50- DEGAS STREET  
  
Trent once told me that Degas Street in the early 1990's was a very special place and time to be a part of. Thank God I wasn't there. Tonight the street was alive with the sound of grunge and alternative reborn. It was an all night Rock Fest and the only place I knew to still be up this time of morning. The streets were jam packed with human filth of all descriptions and styles, still grasping the past by the short hairs. Not that I'm saying these were bad people, just people who didn't believe in bathing often, I would fit right in. Thinking back on what Trent said, hard as it was over the sounds of a band attempting "Smells Like Teen Spirit" but coming out sounding more like a Weird Al rendition, I remembered where I was during that special time.   
  
Highland, Texas- Early 1990's  
  
I believe it was the day I had developed a full immunity to that sound. The constant nervous laughter that drove three teachers to madness and a lunch lady to jam a fork in her aorta, this sound had taken other people down a dark path, but I had learned to tune it out. Beavis and Butt-Head were the end product of what was probably the most intricate series of experiments in inbreeding in the great state of Texas, possibly the South and of course put European royalty to shame. We where sitting in the backyard, Beavis was attempting to light up a grasshopper and mumbling pyrotechnically (not that he would know what that is) between his laughs while Butt-Head was at present trying to do something akin to thinking, a most amusing thought. I myself was attempting to have an interview with them for the school paper, a frustrating assignment in every sense of the word, but my name in print on Monday would be all the gratification I required.  
  
"So Butt-Head, you claim to be a music connoisseur." I mentally hit myself for the word, now many more words for explaining it where in order.  
  
"Uh. Huh-huh, uh…no. I just like, know stuff about like cool music. Like all the cool stuff from like Metallica and to like um…Metallica." Thank God that bullet was dodged, if only by luck.  
  
"What are your thoughts on the new Greenday album?" Get ready for the answer on this one. Next time the editor asks me to get experts I need to remember not to open my smart mouth and suggest these two.  
  
"Uh…like Green Peace sucks, like Van Driessen is a Green Peace and they're all like hippie wussies who listen to sucky college music. You have to be a dumb ass not to know that. Or maybe you can be Beavis." He launched off into laughter.  
  
"Shut up ass munch! He-he-m-he-he. Like you like college music! Like REM!"  
  
"They suck, like…uh…"  
  
"I don't mean to interrupt but I said Greenday, the album is 'Dookie'." I tried to avoid the title but I needed to say it to get my message across. Eventually I got my little review- between spastic laughing they kept saying 'cool', 'dookie', and 'poop'. Since I had recorded all of this on a hand held recorder this was going to make for some interesting middle of the night listening for my dear little sister. Mission accomplished, Bravo Zulu, time for exfiltration.  
  
It seemed everyone was up and celebrating. A candle light vigil for Kurt Cobain caught my attention, a circle of fans singing "Come As You Are" around the garbage can bonfire with shotguns in the flames. I wonder if someone had remembered to unload them? Degas Street appeared to be blocked off from end to end for this festival, good idea since it would keep innocent bystanders from accidentally coming in contact with it. On top of the usual shops keeping their doors open for those in need of a quick 40 oz and then a tattoo to cap off the event before passing out in a pool of your best friend's vomit there were also many booths set up. Charitable and less than charitable organizations had descended on the event, the one that caught my eye was the Save the Degas booth, run by actual Degas (or Montagnards) from Vietnam. Axl's was doing another two holes for the price of one special but I wouldn't fall into that trap again, I'm plenty ventilated thank you kindly.   
  
I took note of what the Funky Doodle had to offer, they had traded out the old retro for some new retro, but still being sold at very modern prices. Raucous sounds made me turn my attention back to the street. Was I witnessing human cellular reproduction? It seemed the crowd was doubling in size, no, not doubling, but compacting around a man boy raising a red and black anarchist's flag atop a pole on the roof of a black van with red stripes.  
  
"Maybe if I could convince them Quinn was French…" An A-Team reference? Time to quit while no one was listening. Then it happened, the person atop the van, now I clearly recognized him as the goatee man from the bus stop pointed me out.   
  
"Hey, you! Come on up!"  
  
Before I could answer I was swept up by the sycophants and was transported to the roof of the van, the cold metal stung my ass.  
  
"Any thoughts on Rock Fest?  
Disoriented I mustered the best response possible at the time. "Today Degas Street, tomorrow the world." Delivered drier than a skin condition and they didn't even catch on, but cheered for me. Daria Morgendorffer, patron saint of Rock Fest.  
  
"Why wait!?" My benefactor shouted, and as I had managed to get both feet back on the ground all hell broke loose.  
  
The party was in full swing and now I was caught up in the middle of it. A tsunami of mass confusion surged forward and engulfed me, hooping and hollering, spilling alcohol on everything in sight and raising lighters high into the night sky, shotguns fired in the distance. I tried to fight it but it was useless, to struggle would mean getting caught in a human rip tide. No, their momentum would carry me to where ever the hell they where headed. I was spun around and getting felt up by some bastard in a bush hat before suddenly I was pushed sideways and a hand caught me across the face. After that everything else was a blur.   
  
"My glasses!" I panicked, now I was not only cold and alone in this flood but blind too. My scam artist detector could no longer protect me. "I lost my glasses!"  
  
Suddenly I heard another voice from somewhere. "What a loser, hey chick, a loser says what?" I blew him off and attempted to get out of here. I was without any form of navigation so this task became even harder than before, I just tried to find a direction and push for it. "Hey, chick, a loser says what?"  
  
"Well keep talking." That might of shut him up, I wasn't sure as I was forced in another direction. Didn't I just come from here? I couldn't tell as it was all a jumbled blur to me.   
  
5:13- THE BIG STRAWBERRY  
  
I was still blind and confused when I came to, it took a moment to recall what had taken place earlier and how…how the hell did I wind up in front of a large red blur in the sky. Was Artie right all along? I raised myself up on my side and felt something cool in my jacket. Pure, unrequited luck. My glasses had somehow got caught on my jacket. I had lost my watch cap on the ride over here but it's better to lose $4 than $400. I recalled how I came to be here in front of Lawndale's only major landmark, as the crowds grew more rowdy the black van drove off, I had grabbed onto the ladder on the back and held on for dear life. I was planning to hop off whenever they stopped, but after realizing this was possibly the worst idea I'd ever had I just hung on for dear life. Eventually I think they stopped, or at least slowed down enough for me to attempt to get off. But then they accelerated and I fell to the ground and now here I was staring up at a bulbous red fruit. I could kiss the stalk for good luck, but most likely I'd just get a case of mouth herpes from all the past kissers.  
  
6:02- 1111 GLEN OAK LANE  
  
Sunlight began to creep across the sky and play across the landscape, eventually erasing all vestiges of darkness. The walk home had taken it all out of me, I would have to shower soon. Shower, do the laundry then spray myself down with an antibacterial aerosol. After repeating this process several times I might just be clean and scent free. I quickened my steps up to the front door, Sick, Sad World was going to run an all day marathon and I didn't want to miss a moment of it. Sure it had declined in it's last season, but a die hard fan doesn't know how to call it quits. Finally, the front door, my Iliad was over and I was beat. I began the night just wanting some entertainment and I had gotten more than I bargained for. Lessoned learned, no need for a repeat. Though someday in another fit of boredom I may strike out again, maybe it won't be so bad, Boston has many great things to see and do. An almost optimistic surge came over me as I felt around in my pocket for the house keys some more. I know I didn't lost them. I sighed and plopped down on the welcome mat. I know I didn't lose them because they're still sitting on the nightstand. After that the realization that no matter where I go things will be like this, people are people, and that warm fuzzy abandoned me too. Completely alone and bereft of anything but solitude I stretched out my legs and watched the sunrise. A loner in a watch cap and pea coat strolled by and cast an eye on me.  
  
"Hey, get some sleep!" He chuckled and walked off into the new day.  
  
© 2003 Napalm Krigbaum. Daria and all related characters are pimped out by MTV, who in turn is a dirty whore for Viacom. Insomniac with Dave Attell is the property of Comedy Central. Now seriously, get some sleep. 


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